Here be Dragons
by SHEEP Next 1200Km
Summary: A series of drabbles set after the War about the month where Ron stayed with Charlie and the dragons. Prompts welcome.
1. How Ron came to live with Charlie

"Teach me about dragons, Charlie."

It was an old request, one Ron made frequently as a child when Bill was chatting with Percy, the twins were…exploding stuff, and Ginny was discussing the much shadowy _girl talk_ with Molly.

Except this time, Ron had arrived in Romania on the back of a scarred and thoroughly malnourished dragon, and instead of answering with the usual "Where shall I start?" Charlie blurted out "Where the bloody hell did you find a dragon?"

Ron had slid off the beast, and shrugged.

"Didn't read the papers, then?" He asked, tonelessly, walking towards Charlie.

Charlie had hollered over his shoulder to his colleagues, screaming something along the lines of 'don't just stand there get the bloody thing inside the sanctuary yes now while we're still young" all the while feeling as though he had ruined some terribly dramatic moment. It wasn't everyday your youngest brother rode out to you on a flying giant - the clouds as his backdrop, creating an angelic, ginger halo - after all. 'Where the bloody hell did you find a dragon?' was not exactly a hero's greeting.

After shouting abuse at his fellow dragon-handlers, he finally swept his brother into a limb-shattering hug and said, "What?"

"I broke into Gringotts." Ron had replied mumblingly into Charlie's shoulder.

Charlie broke away and looked into his brother's eyes. He saw the truth look shyly back at him and shrugged, "Cool. Just because? You've got some serious thrill issues if so. And what's that got to do with the dragon?"

Ron slouched back into the embrace and shrugged as best as he could while smushed against Charlie's shoulder, "Nicked it. Seriously, you didn't hear about it?"

"I've been saving dragons, little one. Sorry to disappoint, but reading the Prophet wasn't exactly my top priority." It was true, during the lead-up to the War, the sanctuary had been warding off raids from extremist wizards attempting to release the creatures of myth on unsuspecting muggles. What the extremists hadn't bargained for were muscled men who were exceedingly (read: maternally) protective of the vicious beasts, and whose curses were Dragon Strength.

"'M not little," Ron said, stepping out of the warm hug, "And you can barely go on about thrill issues, Mr. I-Heart-Dragons. It doesn't matter anyway. Basically, the dragon was imprisoned at Gringotts and we freed it. Hermione had been worried about it, so…After, I tracked it down and brought it here."

"Shouldn't you be with, erm, Hermione, you know, healing?"

"She's in Australia. And I am healing. This is just the, um, plaster part. Seeing 'Mione again will be the prodding part."

"Prodding part?" Charlie repeated faintly.

"Yeah, after taking off a plaster, you always jab and pick to see if the hurt is healed over. You know?"

"Not particularly," Charlie had answered truthfully. He considered the possibility that Ron had gone mad – war did that to a person. That or take away the madness – just look at the shell of George. He had then shaken his head, and pointed Ron to his cabin. "This way, Ronnie."

Ron stared at him, a tad incredulously, "Aren't you even going to ask me how I am? You know, 'Hello Ron, good to see you, are you okay?'"

"Of course not. I'm your wosserface, plaster. Of course you're not okay."

"I never knew you had _such_ a grasp on metaphor," Ron grumbled, but followed on anyway.

Charlie had grinned, thrown his arm over Ron's shoulders (which were higher up than his and thus awkward to throw his arm over) and led him to where Charlie lived, "Didn't even know you knew what 'metaphor' meant."

Ron had hit him.

And afterwards, when Charlie given Ron the tour ("Toilet. Settee. Fridge."), he sat his little, but no longer small, brother down on the worn, and therefore familiar, sofa and asked, "Where shall I start?"

And that was how, for a month, Ron came to live with Charlie and dragons.


	2. The month

The month is a transition period – the time between the War and Fred's funeral.

The month is a healing process – a time to assess the damage and treat the wounds.

The month is a break – time where they can just _be_.


	3. Squished

They sleep on the settee together, squished as two grown men usually are in confined spaces. But despite this, Charlie has never before been so comfortable.

He usually sleeps on the settee anyway, not especially caring for the gaping emptiness of the double bed that came with the cabin, or 'Shed, sweet Shed' as his door reads.

It would probably be more logical to sleep on the bed, especially now with Ron – who can no longer sleep without another human being's presence – sharing his sleeping space, but the bed has been neglected for so long that dust blankets the blankets and Charlie doubts it is habitable. Or particularly hygienic to sleep on.

And so they sleep on the settee together, squished.


	4. Messed Up

Ron has nightmares sometimes.

Charlie has awoken to Ron writhing and screaming and wrestling in his sleep. Once, Ron had even transformed the coffee table into a sword _wandlessly_.

The best course of action, Charlie has found, is to hold Ron's limbs still from behind and start singing, loudly. It usually (always) ended up being 'Odo the Hero', as it was the only song Charlie knew all the lyrics to and could sing more or less in tune.

The mornings after bring about funny looks from the other dragon keepers, but he can hardly blame them. He'd look at people funny too if he heard shrieks and "_They laid him to rest with his hat inside out_" every night too.

The aftermath of the demons was Ron shivering with tears, clutching Charlie like drowning man tries to clutch the air, and Charlie softly warbling Odo's triumphs and losses.

Once, Ron had been particularly violent and his screeching was especially loud. Charlie had had to sing Odo's tale twice over before Ron actually woke up. It had been hysterical and Charlie had been terrified. Giant, fire-breathing creatures he could deal with; his brother's distress, not so much.

Ron had eventually calmed down, quivering with suppressed cries, sniffing and arrhythmically breathing in while Charlie's panicked singing morphed into steady humming.

"Charlie, am I messed up?" Charlie considered him.

"In your own special way."

Ron had then hit him, not hard, and tackled him off the sofa and onto the floor.

They playfought, but it was dirty, and they bit and clawed and _strangle__d_ and Ron cried so hard he laughed.

Charlie looked hard at his strong, broken brother and thought that Ron – with snot running out his nose and tear-stained freckles – had never been so beautiful.


	5. It's a boy

He had wanted to help, and Charlie finds he can't deny his brother anything anymore.

But he is still a big brother, and so assigns cleaning up the dragon poo to Ron.

Two days after Ron had arrived, Charlie walks into the "dragon toilet" to find Ron grumbling and cursing colourfully. A surge of pride washes over him (he had taught ickle Ronnie most of the swear words) and he marches up to Ron, grin plastered all over his face.

"What?" Ron growls at him.

Charlie just continues to grin back.

"Oh go away," Ron mutters, forking a steaming pile of dragon faeces into a bag. Charlie is still standing there when he looks up.

"What?" Ron now whines.

"It's a boy," Charlie informs him, rocking happily on his feet.

Ron blinks at him, "You're pregnant?"

Charlie halts to a stop, "_What?_"

"What?"

They look at each other weirdly for about ten minutes, before Charlie clears his throat.

"_Ok-aay._ Let's start again: You know that dragon you flew in on? Yeah, well we "sexed"-" Charlie winces at the term and Ron snorts, "-it and, guess what, it's a boy!"

Ron brightens, "That's great!"

Charlie nods, the conversation finally going the way he thought it would (Pregnant? Honestly?), "Yeah, and you get to name it."

Ron pauses.

"Anything?"

"Anything." Charlie replies, but thinks, hopes, _not Fred_, Please _not Fred_. Charlie doesn't think he could handle that.

"What about Chudley?" Ron asks, but as soon as Charlie opens his mouth Ron trawls on.

"No, that sound too much like Dudley. And Cannons is euphemistic," Ron is now mumbling to himself as he scoops up the dragon manure, his face the image of concentration. "Firewhisky is too cliché, Ethelbert is too weird, Draco is too Malfoy…"

Ron carries this on for some time, and Charlie just stands there helplessly, watching his youngest brother clearing the poo while listing off names.

Charlie doesn't know how long he stands there, but eventually Ron tires and still hasn't come up with a name.

"Ignatius!" Ron finally shouts out. Charlie studies at his nails.

"Can't. I already named a dragon that."

Ron sighs, "Fine. Call it Brendon."


	6. Stay off the boulders

On his lunch break, Charlie sits outside the sanctuary's wards and looks out to the forests.

The first time Ron joins him, he sits on the ornamental stones outside. One of the keepers runs out, and yells that he isn't allowed to sit on the decorations. Charlie watches on, amused. He is curious about how his brother would react.

"There's no sign saying 'Stay off the boulders'," Ron argues, perched firmly on the huge rock.

"There's no sign saying 'Don't piss on the grass' either, but you know not to do that!" the keeper shouts back, storming inside.

Ron sits smugly on the rock, while Charlie almost breaks the unwritten 'don't piss on the grass' rule with laughter.

The next day, there is a sign, declaring loudly in red, 'STAY OFF THE BOULDERS." Ron sits on the sign instead.

The angry keeper gives up.


	7. Don't tell Mum

Charlie is on his back, smoking on his lunch break, idly watching the smoke salsa in the cool Romanian air. Sometimes, he even attempts to blow smoke rings – 'attempts' being the important word there.

Ron soon joins him, and stutters.

"You smoke?" he asks, mostly shocked, but with a considerable amount of scolding to it too.

Charlie snorts, "If I had been worried about inhaling toxic fumes, you'd think I'd stay well away from dragons, wouldn't you?"

Charlie takes a long, savoury drag in the silence, and exhales easily, impersonating the flying lizards he babysits. He then panics.

"Don't tell Mum!"


	8. Me too

Sometimes, when Ron had finally fallen into a dreamless sleep, with his eyes still rimmed with a red eyeliner called _Sorrow_ and his nose still pink with a rouge called _Fear_, he wanted to whisper, "I'm messed up too, Ronnie."

He wanted to tell Ron how, once, he went three whole days without eating because he had looked at the steaks he had been feeding the dragons and realised that it had once been eating and mooing happily in the fields not far from the sanctuary, and if he had to be eaten he at least wanted to be _seasoned_ properly. He couldn't even go vegetarian, because what if the vegetables screamed when they were pulled up, but they were just too quiet for people to hear? On the fourth day of starvation, he was too hungry to care about anything and everything in the world and ate a pork pie.

He wanted to tell Ron how when he writes letters to family he can't use the brown owls because they remind him of Molly's eyes and how crestfallen they looked when he told her he was moving to Romania.

He wanted to tell Ron how he learnt seven different prayers in five different languages to try and plead with each and every god there was out there to bring Fred back, and how when his brother was not immediately resurrected he wept until he was sick because he thought it was due to not praying enough.

One day, thinking Ron was asleep, he actually does whisper it, and Ron blearily replies, "How so?"

He could have said:

_I feel guilty when I eat things that had as much right I do to live._

He could have said:

_I feel guilty when I think of Mum and how I abandoned her._

He could have said:

_I feel guilty when I don't pray for Fred to come back every night._

Instead, he says, "I eat Marmite and carrots."

Ron turns around to face him, eyes still blurry with sleep, "What, together or…?"

"Together. I dunk carrots in Marmite."

"Oh." Ron shuts his eyes again. "Yeah, that is messed up."

Ron enters the world of the unconscious again and Charlie whispers, "You have no idea."


	9. Magic

Contrary to what Charlie (and the rest of the Weasley brood) had said otherwise, Ron was not stupid.

So naturally, he was quick on the uptake that five plus bags of manure (and they were _big_ bags) meant he could interact with the dragons.

"_Hey-ya_, Brendon," Ron coos to the snarling beast, scratching its scales. Brendon can't actually feel the scratching, but Charlie doesn't point this out; he always thought that petting was for the owners' sakes, rather than the pets in question.

Occasionally, if Ron has filled a lot of poop bags, Charlie even lets him feed Brendon. He had been surprised the first time he had allowed Ron to feed Brendon as the snappy beast had not even attempted to bite the arm attached to the steak offered. With other handlers, the dragon had not been so tame.

In fact, Ron has been surprisingly gifted at controlling the creature.

Charlie tells him as much.

"You have been surprisingly gifted at controlling the creature."

"His name's 'Brendon', not 'the creature'," Ron says absentmindedly, still fussing over the dragon.

Brendon has calmed down by this point, and Charlie is convinced he would be purring if he were anything like a cat and anything not like the scaled, carnivorous, flying predator he is.

"Still, it's pretty remarkable how much he listens to you. I mean, how the _hell_ did you fly to a place you've never been before on the back of a _blind_ dragon?"

Ron throws a look over his shoulder, and his blue eyes twinkle in such a Dumbledore-like manner that Charlie thinks he is either going to get something mind-staggeringly profound or something maddeningly obscure:

"Magic."


	10. Envy

Brown and blue. The colours of the Weasleys' eyes.

Bill, Charlie, Fred, George and Ginny all had Molly's brown eyes; only Percy and Ron took after Arthur.

Looking into Ron's angry blue eyes, Charlie silently watches as Ron rants and kicks over furniture furiously, the remains of a letter cremated in the fireplace.

"Get a job! A JOB?!" Ron screeches, "A proper job! What, dragon tending doesn't qualify anymore? A year ago, she wasn't all too pleased they opened a joke shop, oh no! But now the _money_'s coming in, it's all "_Why can't you get a _proper_ job like George?_" Well, guess _what_ Mum? I'M NOT GEORGE!"

Ron smashes Charlie's lamp, and then screams as he sticks his leg through the coffee table.

After, when Charlie heals Ron's shin and wipes away his livid tears, he internally curses Bill, remembering all the Percy-bashing the twins got up to when he became Prefect; the spiders Ginny set on Ron when he recalled an adventure with _the _Harry Potter; the cold shoulder he received from Percy after winning a Quidditch match. Bill never had to experience any of the trials of being a younger sibling.

Because while brown and blue are the colours of the Weasleys' eyes, occasionally the younger siblings turned green-eyed.


	11. That Way Inclined

Ron reads his post on their lunch breaks, hungrily taking in the stories of a faraway land called "Home".

One Tuesday, Ron is completely enraptured in a letter, eagerly scanning the pages, a smile ablaze on his face. Charlie is grateful that something is still worth Ron's smiles.

Charlie isn't bothered by Ron's lack of conversation, happily smoking away; but on Ron's fifth burst of laughter, Charlie's curiosity can hold in no longer, and he asks, "How's the girlfriend?"

Ron's flush spreads from his ears, "It's _Harry_."

Charlie smirks lazily, "Same difference."

Ron splutters, "We're not-it's-I'm not-Harry's-Ginny-"

Charlie roughly grabs Ron's cheek with his free hand and pinches it, hard, "Aww, you're _adorable_," he crows.

Ron shoves him away, his face like a quaffle, "Gerroff."

Charlie laughs, and notices the twitch in his brother's mouth, "Relax. I know. Besides, you're more of a classic blonde-eyed, blue-hair kind of guy."

"Classic?" Ron asks, bemused, "What the hell are you smoking?"

Charlie glares, disgusted, at the cigarette spurting wispy-blue smoke, "Loo roll, by the taste of it. Anyway, you know what I mean. I always thought that if you got with a guy, he'd be sorta…Aryan looking."

"Why?" The question is asked with curiosity, rather than disgust or offence.

Charlie shrugs, "I dunno. I suppose I always thought you had similar tastes to Mum."

"Dad's not blond."

"Yeah, but she had that thing for that Lockhart bloke."

Ron scrunches up his nose, "Eww."

A silence shimmers, both letter and cigarette hanging limply in freckled hands, the cigarette's pathetic smoke washed away by the soft breeze.

"Ginny once thought you were, you know?"

Ron turns to face him, surprised, "Gay?"

"That too," Charlie admits, but clarifies: "I meant shagging Potter."

Ron chokes for a bit, and Charlie, the helpful brother that he is, laughs at his expense before roughly thumping him on the back.

"-_What_?" Ron rasps, all red in his face fading to pink, draining to white.

"Yeah," Charlie huffs out, nodding, "After your first year in Hogwarts, she was convinced you had a crush on him. But when she started dating him in, what? Fifth year?" Ron dumbly nods, "She started to think that maybe he was in _love_ with you. She got paranoid that you two were having a passionate love affair behind her back."

Ron's expression morphs from gaping fish to confused puppy, "But…_why_?"

"In first year, you tended to babble quite a bit about Potter, and Mum had only just got 'round to giving Ginny the talk. So, newly introduced to the idea of homosexuality, Ginny's ten-year old girl brain came up with only one reasonable explanation: you were gay for Potter."

Ron stares at him for a moment, and Charlie is made uncomfortable by the expectation laden in the gaze. He averts his eyes and snuffs out his cigarette. He looks back up at Ron.

"…What?"

Ron rolls his eyes, "And in fifth year…?" he prompts.

"And in fifth year?" Charlie asks confused. "Oh! Same thing really. Apparently every time they were alone _he_ started babbling on about _you_ and how funny you were and, well," Charlie coughs, embarrassed, "Us Weasleys have got a bit of a reputation for jealousy."

Ron's eyes are huge in shock, and his expression is a painting of pure flabbergastery.

"But how – how do you know?"

Charlie's face burns, "Er, in third year, I punched a bloke for-"

"_No_," Ron interrupts, "About Ginny. How do you know about Ginny thinking that, that, that_ I_, no, me and _Harry_ were, erm, together?"

Charlie laughs, "Come on, Ron - you're her older brother too. Really expect me to believe that you haven't snooped in her diary?"

Ron ducks his head, "Yeah, well, her locking charms are shit."

"And you, like the rest of us no doubt, exploited that fact."

"Still don't know what entries you read," Ron mumbles, carefully folding his letter and slipping it into his pocket, "All I got was how hard Potions are and that Valerie Beckman is a bitch."

"You obviously didn't read the right dates."

"Evidently."

Ron shakes his head, then considers Charlie with a thoughtful expression.

"Maybe it's another Weasley thing."

"Really, there are far too many 'Weasley things'. But enlighten me – how is considering one's sibling gay a Weasley thing?"

"You've never thought that, you know, Percy…?" Ron trails off.

"What, with Wood?"

"Yeah," Ron says, "Didn't you think was a bit suspicious that Percy was really getting into quidditch after Hogwarts?"

"I suppose…it did seem a bit strange when he started asking me about Puddlemere United and when they were next playing."

"He's not," Ron hastens to mention, "It's just that, he seemed to be. I mean, at the World Cup, when the first thing Wood said to us was not 'Hello' but 'How's Percy?' and I thought that was proof. Of the poof."

Charlie nods, slightly dazed, "Proof of the poof."

Charlie doesn't think he'll ever be able to shake the image of Wood propositioning his brother with various quidditch innuendos.

"Eurgh. Men. _Women_. Far too complicated," he declares to Ron, "I think I'll just stick with fire-breathing dinosaurs."

"Yeah," Ron says sarcastically, "'Cause they aren't complicated at all."


	12. Healing Humour

Charlie had just walked into the living room, sandwich halfway to his mouth, when he notices Ron, eyes glazed over, forehead crinkled in utter disbelief, sat rigid on the settee-come-bed.

"Ron?" he asks softly and with caution.

Ron turns his blank stare to face him, letter held loose in his long fingers.

"Ron?" Charlie asks, "Is everything alright?"

Ron opens his mouth, but no sound comes out for at least thirty seconds.

"Ron?"

"It's George," Ron manages to get out, "He-"

"He what?" Charlie asks urgently, anxiety curdling in his stomach.

"He-he's gotten an _ear _patch."

Charlie blinks, "You can _buy_ those?"


	13. Belief

"Hey, Charlie?"

Charlie sausage rolls over on the sofa to face his brother. It is as inelegant as it sounds.

"Yeah?"

"Do you-" Ron hesitates, "Do you believe in God?"

Charlie snorts.

"We live in a world where magic is real and carrots can be purple," he tells Ron, "There's not a lot in this world that I'd outright declare as 'unbelievable'."

Everything about Ron screams quiet in this moment. His expression, presence and voice are all…quiet. A ripple of worry disturbs the quiet in Ron's face.

Ron whispers his confession: "I don't."

Charlie whispers back: "That's okay."


	14. Parental Logic

"Ronald Bilius Weasley! You will do as I say and you _are_ going to-"

"No I won't! And don't you middle name me, Charles I-don't-have-a-middle-name Weasley!"

"_Yes_, you are Ron! You are going into town and-"

"Why do I have to do as you say? What, are you Mum now?!"

"No, I'm not Mum! But if she were here _she_ would agree with me! Which is why you are going into town _even if I have to march you there myself_ and getting a haircut!"

"Have you _seen_ your hair? I'm _sorry_ if I think it's a little rich being told to get a haircut, Mr. Pot!"

"You listen to me, Ron Weasley! You are _going_ into town, and you are _going_ to get a haircut!"

"NO! WHY SHOULD I?"

"BECAUSE I SAID SO!"

Screaming ensues for several hours.


	15. Muggle

"Mr. Lover-lover," Ron jumps, splattering dragon poo, but Charlie doesn't notice, "Mmm, Mr. Lover-lover."

Ron stares at Charlie, uncomprehending. Charlie is pacing, and doesn't appear to care about what he is pacing _in_.

"She call Mr. Bombastic, say me fantastic," Charlie says with a little shimmy and hop, "Touch me in me back," Twirl, "She says I'm Mr Raaaw," Charlie seems to _growl_, "-mantic, say me fantastic-"

Charlie grooves around Ron, giving a little hip wiggle.

"-Touch me in me back, she says I'm Mr. Boom-boom!"

Ron coughs violently, causing Charlie to finally acknowledge him.

When Ron has calmed down, he tells his brother that "The words I knew, but the _meaning_ – that I did _not_ get."

Charlie gives a dismissive wave, "It's _muggle_."


	16. AAIIEEE

"AAAIIEEEEEEEEE!" resounded through the cabin.

Charlie barely lifted his head out of a letter from Bill, eyebrow condescendingly raised, as Ron leapt into the living room. The eyebrow stared at him.

Ron chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his head, "A, er, _funny_ thing happened on my way to the loo…"

"Funny as in 'haha'-" Charlie asked, eyes burrowed back into the letter, "-or funny as in 'You know John Brooks? He's a bit _funny_.'"

"Er, neither. Funny as in 'Huh, what do you know – there's a_ spider_ on the toilet door.'"

The eyebrow ascended again, and Ron shuffled a bit.

Charlie continued to read a moment in silence, before he threw the letter down and sighed, heavily.

"How big?"

Mumbled: "Quite big."

Charlie emitted another sigh, "Alright. Come on then."

Charlie ambled to the toilet door, while Ron slowly and cautiously slunk behind.

The spider was about the size of a man's thumbnail, and, Charlie was certain, _trembling_.

Charlie sighed and scooped it up.

"There, look, all gone. You can go and pee now. Have fun."

This was followed by a quietly grateful, sing-song, "Thank you, Charlie."

Charlie smiled softly, "'Salright, Ron."

He had placed the spider outside the window when Ron came back, wiping his hands on his trousers.

"Still can't see how you can get beaten up by giant chess pieces, break into Gringotts, battle Death Eaters and still be afraid of spiders."

Ron flushed scarlet, "It's not that easy."

"…Isn't it, though?"

"Shut up," Ron muttered, "I'm not the one who coddles dragons but is afraid of _goats_, of all things."

Charlie ducked his head, "Yeah, well, anyone sane would. They eat _anything_."

"Your dragons eat people!"

"Yeah, but they give no illusions to otherwise, do they?"

Ron stared at him.

"You're crazy. Just drop it, okay? You keep away from harmless grazing animals, and I'll stay well away from eight-legged exoskeletons."

Charlie walked off in the direction of the kitchen, muttering "Harmless? As if."


	17. Omphaloskepsis

It had been a _long_ day at the Dragon Sanctuary.

Filled with irritable dragons, saving Ron from inflammable belches, and helping Ron clean up the masses of poo, Charlie cursed the bad steaks they had accidentally given the dragons.

After taking a long and hot shower, Charlie walked into the living room while towelling his hair to find Ron, still sweaty and grimy, sat on the sofa, with his shirt pulled up to his chest, gazing at his bellybutton with…_wonder_?

"To think," Ron said in awe, "That I once fed from here."

Charlie stared at his brother.

Ron continued to contemplate his navel.

Charlie sighed; he was too tired for this shit.

"Yeah, whatever, shut up," he said in a monotone, "Go and wash."

Without looking up from his stomach, Ron stood up and wandered into the bathroom without bumping into anything.

Charlie hesitated, before feeling for his bellybutton above the shirt. Shaking his head, he collapsed on the settee, dead to the world.


	18. Saviour

"I don't like that muggle quote," Ron tells Charlie, out of the blue.

They're on their break, just lying there, backs on the grass, watching the empty blue.

"Which one?" Charlie asks, angling his head to look at Ron.

"That one about dragons – something about how fairytales are true because we can fight them, or something."

"'Fairy tales are more than true; not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.'" Charlie quotes, word for word. He doesn't like it much either.

"Yeah, that one.

"I mean," Ron says, "I appreciate the sentiment behind it, but I think it misses out a more important sentiment."

"What's that?"

Ron turns to face him: "That dragons can be saved."

It's time like these when Charlie really _feels_ related to his brother.


	19. You can read?

_He bolted through the corridor, wand grasped tightly in his fist. He sent a hex at a lurking silhouette, and another over his shoulder. He banked a corner, met with a flash of green that he barely dodged. He replied with a curse and staggered onwards, noticing a shadowed door. Shutting himself inside, he panted, hard. The pounding of footsteps outside the door was growing exponentially louder, out of sync with the exponentially growing pounding of his heart. The door exploded open and-_

"You _read?_"

Charlie lobbed his wand at his brother's forehead, which changed Ron's usually ginger mop into a vivid yellow mass:

"Piss off."


	20. Kisses from the angels

Charlie's earliest memory is of Aunt Muriel dragging him into her lap, and cooing over how adorable his freckles were, and how any girl who didn't find them so was not worth the candle and/or heartbreak.

He had never understood what Muriel meant, always being rather embarrassed over the agglomeration of freckles in _all_ quarters.

But as he watches Ron's forehead crease in disgust of what he's handling (dragon dung), the freckles merging to form a slightly repulsed, squiggly line, he finds he gets what Muriel was on about.

And he thinks Hermione better realise what she's got.


	21. Quite the pair

Ron was folding his socks. Charlie has no idea why, or what prompted Ron into this sudden bout of orderliness, but isn't about to stop him as, caught up in the momentum of sock piling, Ron has matched up Charlie's socks too.

He has a peculiar way of folding socks: he sets the first sock down, lays the second on top, 90º to the first, before folding the first over the second, and then the second over the first. It is exactly the same way Percy does it.

Ron glances over at Charlie and pauses.

"You alright, Charlie?" he asks, concerned.

"Nah, I'm half left."

Ron continues to look worried as Charlie gives him a small smile.

"I'm alright, Ron," he says, "Just missing Percy, s'all."

Ron nods, then gives a start.

"Perce? Not-not Fred?"

Charlie winces.

"I'm always missing Fred," Charlie says quietly.

"But, you said - Percy…" Ron trails off in a questioning manner.

"You fold socks like him."

Ron looks surprised.

"Yeah, well he helped me pack the day before Hogwarts. I guess, I guess it must have stuck. So?"

"I, uh, go through cycles of missing you lot. Sometimes I'll really want to see Ginny, other times everything'll remind me of Bill. Now I just…miss Percy."

Ron is quiet a moment, which he does a lot while he thinks.

"You never told that before."

"It wasn't so bad when Bill was in Egypt, going through the same thing. Our letters revolved around who we were missing the most at the time. But he's in England now, with everyone else. It helped when you came, but you're leaving soon, so…" Charlie shrugs.

Ron's expression is tainted with guilt.

"How'd you know I was leaving soon?" he asks.

"Don't think I was under the illusion you were gonna come back after Fred's funeral."

"You don't mind, do you?" Ron asks anxiously.

"Ron, it's fine. It wasn't as if you were going to stay forever."

"It's still not fair," Ron says, ashamed, "You shouldn't have to be alone. We're, like, _millions_ of miles away, and you're here all on your own."

Charlie grins, "Not quite millions. Seriously though, it's fine. You were never meant for this life of solitude and dragon-sitting. You're the big hero close to home. You keep the Boy-Who's-Alive in check and the Weasleys in their normal state of insanity. I can't keep you all to myself."

Ron looks away, fiddling with socks.

"You know, sometimes I don't wanna go back. I know I've got to. Eventually. But, it's like, when I go back, it'll all be horribly real. The War. Fred…Here, it's all detached. Dream-like.

"I don't know if I can handle reality anymore," Ron whispers.

Charlie wraps his arms around him, "Oh Ron," Charlie says, "Oh _Ronnie_ – this _is _my reality. It's all real to me: the War, Fred…We can't keep living in different states of acceptance. You've got to go back to Harry, and Hermione, and Mum and Dad. You've got to be there for them too. They need you more than they let on. It'll hurt more than help if you were to stay here."

Ron tightens his grip in the embrace, unmatched socks forgotten for the moment.

"I don't want to leave," he mumbles into Charlie's clothes.

"Oh, but you do. And you will, and I'll miss you all over again."

"But not today," Ron tells him fiercely.

"I know."

"And not tomorrow, either."

"I know."

"And not the day after that."

Charlie smiles, "I know."

Ron nods, "Good. That's…good."

They break apart, and Ron wipes his nose on his sleeve. He clears his throat, and picks up a pile of paired socks.

"You want me to put your socks in you room?"

"Thanks."


	22. Dreaming of flight

The dragon reared its head and screamed, streams of fire whipping towards the keepers, who barely got the fire wards up in time.

The creature grows more agitated, nostrils smoking, slamming its tail by the keepers.

One of the tamers sends a Stupefy at the beast, but it's not strong enough, and the dragon's angry gaze turns on the man.

It stalks, flies, pounces towards him, its teeth bared and Ron is running; running faster than he's ever needed to, running _towards_ the dragon.

"RON! GET BACK!" Charlie bellows, but Ron is running, red head ducked, feet pounding mercilessly on the dry ground.

His hair whips back, lengthening down his spine; arms elongate, morph and web to his side; his teeth whet, his feet claw up earth and he's charging–

"RON!" Charlie screams, but Ron's already locking horns with the Romanian Longhorn, insulting with fire, cursing with flames and roars.

They clash, snapping and scraping, Lincoln green verses cinnabar.

Ron's scales sing with battle, and his fangs wrap tightly around the Longhorn's throat, his talons pinning his opponent's wings to the land.

Through his mouth, he can feel the dragon, tense then still. The beast makes the closest thing it can to a whine, and Ron releases him. It shuffles back, wings to the ground, its head – crowned with magnificent, golden horns – bows in submission.

Ron grunts in approval, and the Longhorn meekly does what the keepers tell it to.

He sweeps Charlie onto his back - who whoops, carefree – and takes off.

Leaping into the sky, he rounds up herds of clouds, dances around flocks of geese, teeth bared in a reptile grin as Charlie shouts out with glee.

He snaps shut his wings, plummeting nose-first towards a still mountain lake, preparing for a Wronski Feint of dragon proportions.

His nose hits the bullseye of the lake and –

He snaps up straight on the settee, Charlie watching him with an amused smirk on his mouth, mug in hand.

"Iwannabedragonanimagus," comes out in a rush.

"Good morning," Charlie replies with a grin.

"I was a – I'm – flying – Romanian Longhorn fight –"

"What?" Charlie asks politely.

"I…I want to become a dragon animagus."

Charlie snorts tea out of his nose, and Ron cannot forbid his mouth from curling into a smile.

"What?" Ron asks, smile tugging wryly at his mouth.

"You-" Charlie cracks up.

"Yes?"

"You-" Charlie huffs.

"We already established that."

"You," Charlie pants out, "are an Idiot."

Ron valiantly attempts to smother him with a pillow. Charlie just continues to cackle.

"I mean, six years of Hogwarts education, and you say something like that."

Ron ducks his head, embarrassed.

"Animagi transformations can be fatal enough, but to become a _magical_ creature animagi – which I'm not sure is even possible – is bloody risky. Not to mention your magic has to be _pretty_ special – like a super-Dumbledore/Merlin hybrid."

Ron turns his downcast head away.

Guilt flares through Charlie, "I'm sorry, Ron. I shouldn't have laughed at you like that-"

Ron sighs wistfully, facing his brother, "No, that was fine," he admits, "I _should_ have realised that – and I _was_ being an idiot. It's just that-it's just that it's such a _shame_."

Charlie puts his mug down, surprised, "Why?"

"Imagine just morphing – spreading your wings and…_soaring_. Without a charm, or broom, to limit you. Just…flying…among the dragons."

Charlie laughs again, but this time, he doesn't find it funny.

"What kind were you? In your dream?" he asks quietly, gesturing to the sofa.

Ron gives a small, sheepish smile, "A Regal Copper."


	23. SO not a morning person

Ron's photo album was stocking up nicely with dragons.

He had some excellent shots of the different breeds. A snap of a Common Welsh Green taking off; a pic of a snarling Chinese Fireball; a particularly captivating image of duelling Longhorns…

A lot of the photos, though, were of sentimental value; a few dedicated to Brendon, Norberta (for Hagrid), Charlie's personal baby, an Antipodean Opaleye called 'Lapsus'. And of course Ron's favourite close-up of one of the most terrifying, fire-breathing monsters _ever_: A recently woken Charlie.


	24. WIN

Charlie scrubbed his fingers through his still-damp hair as he walked out of the bathroom. Walking into the living room, dragons racing through his mind, he noticed Ron sitting on the sofa, reading the Daily Prophet with the Wireless hissing away, hardly any words making it.

While the domestic scene was not terribly unusual, there was a tension in Ron's shoulders, tightness around his mouth. The fingers holding on to the newspaper bore white knuckles, headlines crinkled under his grasp.

Charlie did the only thing brothers can do to try and comfort a sibling: he annoyed the hell out of him. As a distraction technique, of course.

So a good ten minutes was spent inanely chattering about anything and everything, fidgeting, singing loudly and generally irritating Ron.

Ron's posture relaxed, and he dropped the Prophet, but the louder Charlie got, the more twitchier Ron got. Charlie revelled in it.

Finally, Ron snapped.

"Could you, like, _be_ anymore loud?"

"Could you, like, _be_ anymore ugly?"

Ron's ears flared, and his hair shook furiously as he opened his mouth to retort.

But then, suddenly, coherency shot through the radio's crackling static like sunlight through the clouds:

"-ng catches the snitch!"

To which Ron shot up, screaming.

"The Cannons WIN!"

_Ah_, Charlie thought, as his brother bolted through the cabin, shrieking in delight, _that would explain it_.


End file.
